Chapter Text
Far away, in a peaceful corner of the Shrouded Isles, Epiphany Mazali thought of the Esmenant’s mother. The other one.
What a travesty, she murmured. What a waste of human love and effort.
The Esmenant had truly loved her mother: that unknown woman who had faced such hardships and abuse, and never been rewarded for it. There had been nothing for her but an awful death at her daughter’s own unwilling hands, and a decades-long campaign of pointless revenge. What would have best honored her but for her daughter to live, and flourish, and remember her?
Now all that was lost. Titania had thrown out her mother as an unfinished first draft — just another little person chewed up and forgotten in favor of those with flashy names. In the end, Epiphany supposed, the Esmenant’s hatred of Kalymina had won out over her love for her forgotten mother.
She should be remembered. But now there’s nobody who does.
“Mom,” said Atol, “you’re hugging me pretty tight.”
Epiphany pulled back, realizing how long and how close she had been holding her son. “Sorry, kiddo. It’s just… It’s very good to see you again. More than you know.”
She relaxed her grip, but kept Atol in her embrace. He didn’t complain.
Vedoran sat across from them, watching with intense eyes. Retirement was still unfamiliar to her, and she seemed uncomfortable when not in motion or meditation. She’d welcomed Epiphany at the door when she came back from Mechanus, and spoken only the same words that she’d said when Epiphany had left: “I’m sorry.”
“You knew what would happen,” Epiphany murmured. “Of course you did; you always do. Now I see what you meant.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry we made you watch us march off into ruin.”
“It was always going to happen, with or without my involvement. And I could never have kept you here, not for long, even if I’d tried.” Vedoran’s eyes softened. “You’re my daughter. I wanted you to know that whatever happened, you would still have my support.”
Epiphany nodded slowly. “So, this was always doomed to happen,” she said. “Small comfort.”
“Our Mistress had little part in this affair. I know no prophecies like I did in Ophira, or against the obyriths,” said Vedoran. “What would make you happier — to know you could have changed things, or that you couldn’t?”
“Well, I’d want to change things,” said Atol, speaking up. He seemed aware that there were unseen layers to this conversation, but certain on this subject. “I’m here because you changed things, right?”
Epiphany ran her fingers through his hair. “That’s right, kid.” Her smile faltered as she remembered all the sacrifices it had taken to welcome Atol, and others like him, into the world. A mass of teeth and tendrils in the stars, and a flash of silver hair…
“So, I’d want to do that for somebody else,” said Atol, as if the matter was settled. “No matter what somebody says.” He looked up at Vedoran with a bit of panic. “Um, unless that’s wrong!”
Vedoran gave a thin smile. “Today, I think, there are no wrong answers. Only rest, and healing, and good company.”
She rose from her seat and reached out a hand to Atol. “Come, you must be hungry.” While she did, she caught Epiphany’s eye, and tilted her head towards the opposite door. “Go and tell our guest that lunch is soon, will you?”
Epiphany knocked on the guest room’s door, then waited for a spell to open it from within. Muon had departed promptly, back to adventures in the Astral Sea, but she had brought someone with her who couldn’t leave as easily.
The window was open. Bismila Hajen-Fadia sat there, staring out over the cherry trees. Her feline familiar, Rory, was curled up in her lap. His silken coat obscured the worst of the damage, but it was clear at a glance that Bismila’s legs were gone.
Bismila smiled softly. “Oh, your poor eyes. It’s like you’re looking at a tragedy.” She ran one hand through Rory’s fur, then raised the other as if marveling at the novelty of it. “But, Pip, this is a miracle.”
Kalymina had saved her. She’d spliced her flesh from metal and given her the chance to reform, independent of the Esmenant’s alterations. The only problem was that when the magic hit, there hadn’t been enough flesh left to remake her body as it was.
“I know,” said Epiphany, after a pause. “I just wish we hadn’t needed one.”
“It’s nothing I can’t handle,” Bismila said, though she seemed like she was trying to reassure herself more than Epiphany. “They make excellent prosthetics these days, and in the meantime, I can always get around on a floating disc.”
“There’s regeneration magic,” Epiphany protested. “Hera still has my ring, and I’m sure she won’t need it anymore. I could track her down—”
“You and I both know that won’t work. Regeneration magic works from what the soul says its body ought to be, and I shaped my own soul into this. I had to.”
Bismila shook her head with an expression of wonder. “I saw everything, Pip. All of me was melded together into one essence, containing all the possibilities of life. I could have come back as anything, whatever I could make with the flesh I had. And I did make a few cosmetic changes,” she said, tapping her horns. “But honestly, just existing in that state gave me a perspective that I can’t forget. Such perfect fluidity... It’s a wonderful thing, what Kaly did.”
Bismila paused, giving voice to an unspoken question. “Where is Kaly? Is she alright?”
In another time, another life, maybe Kalymina would be here — maybe everybody would be, celebrating with a dinner at the Mazali estate. In this one, nobody was.
Epiphany was still fond of Kalymina. She always would be. But that love would be tempered, now, by the knowledge of what Kalymina had done, and what her feckless husband had enabled. It wasn’t running away, Epiphany told herself, for her to need some time and space away from them to think. It didn’t have to be forever… though right now, forever sounded almost appealing.
“She’s,” Epiphany said, “alive. I’m sure she’ll visit you in Kamatar when you return.”
Bismila nodded, sensing her trepidation. “And what about the Esmenant?”
Epiphany had spoken to the Esmenant on Mechanus, before it all got out of hand. She liked to think that she’d begun to understand her. She had been made a wayward child, displaced by war and trauma that she’d never chosen. She’d built a life for herself in service to a deity that she wasn’t sure she’d ever fully understood, but dedicated herself to live Its principles regardless. She’d wanted a reunion with her lost mother, maybe even reconciliation. Even though she’d gone about it all in the wrong ways, Epiphany couldn’t help but see herself in the Esmenant.
Oh, she knew that the Esmenant had tried to manipulate her. She’d slandered Epiphany’s own mother. She’d accused her of defending Kalymina out of a misguided self-projection of her own family issues, even implied that Epiphany was failing as a mother by coming on this mission. She’d tried to break her faith in Kalymina and Gillian… and she’d been right about the latter. Epiphany wondered sometimes if she’d been right about both of them.
And now she’d been erased. Epiphany knew that her soul might yet be born anew, but she couldn’t see how that soul would carry any of the life that made her who she was. Kalymina’s child would be no more the Esmenant than Epiphany was the same as Vasyana or Larynda. Linked souls; that was all she ever could be.
“Gone,” said Epiphany, her eyes distant. “She’s gone.”
Bismila’s gaze darkened. “Good. So she finally faced some kind of justice.”
Justice was a funny word for what Titania had done. What would Epiphany have done, if the Esmenant’s life were in her hands instead of Titania’s? She couldn’t be sure. When Kalymina had lain broken on the ground before her, she’d called for a healer, and tried to be there for her as she learned how to be herself.
And look where that led all of us, she thought bitterly. Would she have repeated that with Kalymina’s daughter? Could she imagine that it would have turned out any differently?
Epiphany helped Bismila from her chair as she conjured a floating disc to take her to the dining room. Lunch was a welcome reprieve from thoughts of Mechanus, as Atol chronicled his own adventures with Rory, Hiram, and Vedoran. It was reassuring to remember that her child didn’t feel the weight of all these conflicts on him. Every turn of the wheel was still new to him.
After lunch, she excused herself for a walk along the grounds. The cherry trees were beautiful, and the sea beckoned for a stroll, but Epiphany walked with purpose. Hiram had bought the property for a reduced cost thanks to what was considered an unsightly inclusion: a small, stone mausoleum nestled in a corner of the woods. Of course, to Vedoran, this had simply been another point in its favor.
Epiphany made the sign of the Raven Queen, and the seal around the mausoleum undid itself. She stepped into a room filled with cold and dust. The ether quivered with holy magic, warding off any chance of rot or, worse yet, undeath.
On a stone slab in the center of the room lay the body of Taren the Stinger. Vedoran had healed his flesh, but even she couldn’t beckon an unwilling soul back from the brink. Epiphany approached the slab and laid a hand on Taren’s shoulder, a reflexive motion she had done whenever they needed a hard talk. Now he was silent.
“I thought I might find you here,” said Vedoran, stepping out of the shadows.
Epiphany didn’t flinch. Her mother’s movements rarely surprised her anymore. Her gaze was fixed on Taren, studying his unmoving face.
“We can’t keep him here,” she said at last, with some difficulty. “He needs last rites, and… his family ought to know. He deserves to rest in his beloved Sun Kingdom.”
“Perhaps he does,” said Vedoran. “But does that kingdom truly exist anymore?”
She handed Epiphany a piece of parchment stamped with a scorpion-shaped seal. Epiphany unfolded it, revealing the harsh handwriting of Taren the Stinger.
Preparations are complete. We move out in the morning. No one under Titania’s spell would ever understand, so don’t even bother explaining. It’ll be better if we simply vanish.
I’m not unrealistic about our chances. We have to try, and this is our best shot at avenging our kingdom. Still, this is likely a one-way trip. To those I trust, in the event I don’t return:
Don’t bury me in the Sun Kingdom. Not while that false regime still rules. Burn my body and scatter my ashes at the polar south, in Skotara. At least there, we accomplished something good — something that might last.
Epiphany took a deep, long breath.
“Yes, of course,” said Vedoran, answering the question before she asked. “We’ll mind Atol until you’re back.” She gestured to the gilded black blade at Epiphany’s hip. “With that, it won’t take more than a day or so.”
“So, you noticed,” said Epiphany, placing a hand on the hilt.
“Of course I remember my own sword. But it’s been a long time since I had need of that old thing. There’s an empty mount waiting for it on the wall when you’re done.”
“It’s been invaluable,” said Epiphany. “I’m sorry to deprive you of it for so long.”
Vedoran smirked. “I wasn’t putting it to any great purpose at the time.”
Epiphany gave a small laugh. Together, they set about preparing Taren’s body for transport.
“I stacked firewood outside the mausoleum,” said Vedoran, “and the shelf should have all the materials for a Sun Kingdom military funeral.”
Epiphany nodded idly, taking some time to select a shroud for Taren.
“I love you,” Vedoran added, after a few long moments. “Nothing changes that.”
Epiphany paused, then crossed the mausoleum to offer an embrace. “I love you, too, mom,” she said. “Thank you, for… for everything. I’ll be back soon.”
Dust had a way of getting everywhere, even in the eyes.
Skymaw was not the tallest mountain in Skotara. Hardly even the prettiest, in truth. It stood alone in the land’s center, casting its shadow over Harke Hold, with naught but a festering bog at its base. But it was to this mountain that Taren had led his party all those years ago, beckoned by a distress call from the woman who would become Kalymina. They’d had no way of knowing, Epiphany realized now, that it would be the moment that changed everything. Where might they have gone, what might they have done, if Metronome Unit 724 hadn’t fallen from the sky?
It was impossible to say. But she hoped that in that multitude of other timelines, across so many versions of the story, Taren the Stinger didn’t always need to die.
The blazing bonfire that consumed his body mingled with the flames of the aurora flickering across the sky. Epiphany watched, blanketed from the cold, until every last piece of bone had turned to ash. The crumbled body flaked away into the whipping winter wind, carried over the woods and tundra that Taren had fought across, circling eddies in the sky above the villages he’d been defending.
She bawled. There were more tears than she had expected; more, even, than she’d cried on the brass bridge in Regulus. Teardrops spilled into the snow and quickly crystallized as she watched Taren burn, and every memory went up in smoke. She stayed there, alone on Skymaw, until there were no tears left to fall.
After a long while, her ear twitched. There was motion behind her, and a shuffle in the air. She whirled, tense, ready for anything but what she saw.
“Huh,” said Taren the Stinger. “I didn’t know you cared.”
“Taren..?” she murmured, disbelieving.
Epiphany crossed the distance in an instant, and wrapped him in a deep embrace. To her shock, he didn’t vanish. Rather than a figment of her grieved imagination, she felt his solid and familiar body, wearing the armor that he’d died in.
“You’re here,” she gasped, stepping back. “You’re really back. But how—? I thought you’d chosen differently.”
“You know I’d never welcome resurrection,” Taren said. “This was done to me. One last spit in the face from Tarrik Ashmantle.” He scowled. “I woke up someplace called the Library of Souls, with that rat of a wizard, Alecc. Tarrik talked him into pulling me out of some other timeline to bring me back.”
“Just like Vedoran did for Verak,” said Epiphany. “I… didn’t know Alecc could do that.”
“Apparently, he’s not supposed to,” said Taren bitterly. “Fucking with time like that goes against all his duties to Primus. But he did it anyway, as a favor to Tarrik. Seemed to think it was a favor for me, too. Couldn’t be further from the truth. If he hadn’t had me frozen in time, I’d have strangled him with my bare hands — Tarrik, too. But of course, they worked it out so I can’t ever do that.”
Epiphany raised an eyebrow. “Was that part of the deal? Enforced by magic?”
“Enforced by the inevitables,” said Taren. “Apparently, I’m now a ‘temporal anomaly.’ If the inevitables ever notice me, they’ll crush me in an instant. And since they’ll be monitoring all of Tarrik’s team for their whole lives after this, that means I can’t cross paths with any of them again.”
“But I was there, too!” Epiphany realized with a start. “Are you risking your life by coming here?”
“Apparently, Primus doesn’t get to monitor you, just the Raven Queen,” said Taren. “You’re the only one I can ever see again.”
He shook his head. “I considered doing it anyway — throwing myself at Aladris to bring the inevitables down on him, and hoping they kill him in the crossfire. But the new Primus pardoned him, so the inevitables would only target me. Of course. That slimeball of a fey managed to make it so I can’t ever get my vengeance.”
“That… might be for the best,” said Epiphany. “I don’t want to see more bloodshed between allies.”
“Ah, yes. My allies,” sneered Taren, with more disgust on his face than Epiphany could ever recall seeing there. “I should have just gone back to the army. Every damn outsider group we formed just had to have someone who bit at our heels. Always when we were wounded or distracted doing our actual mission, like a starving rat. Apparently my war brothers are the only people I can trust not to be such rats.” He let out a bitter laugh. “But now the best of them are dead… thanks to my allies.”
“I’m sorry,” said Epiphany. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“I know you didn’t,” said Taren. “But all the same. My only allies are the ones I left behind in the Sun Kingdom: the ones who know our true history, and are willing to fight for it.”
Epiphany’s face fell. “So, you’ve returned from death, and you… still plan to fight?”
He shook his head. “I would — but it’s not that kind of fight anymore. Aladris was my last stand, and the use of force failed. Now we have to work in the shadows. Mraena and Tagwort are recruiting new rebels to the cause, and Daro’s developing new firearms that the fey will never see coming. Cold iron for a cold war.”
Taren sucked in a breath. “Imagine it, Pip. After untold centuries, the supremacy of mages might finally be over — those stuck-up shits. The old king of battle might find himself drowning under an army of common people and their mass-produced bullets. The infantry won't have to be helpless without their own mages anymore!”
He had a faint but visible smile at the thought, while Epiphany felt a chill deeper than the Skotaran air.
“I’ve already given them the Solar Spear,” said Taren. “Carrying Chrysaor’s weapon should lend their cause legitimacy. And if they’re ever able to rescue our true king, she’ll grant them more than that.”
He turned to Epiphany. “You’re always welcome to contribute, if you like.”
Epiphany was no stranger to geopolitics. Instinctively, she thought of Tahminé — still deepening her betrayal of everything she should have been, sinking into the underwater empire of the Abaians. Epiphany suspected that Abaia had a wary eye on the Sun Kingdom, and would be happy to install a new regime of allies. If she wanted to, she could put Taren in contact with them.
She held her tongue. She couldn’t let slip anything that might encourage Taren back into harm’s way.
“Taren, I… I’m just happy you’re back. After everything, you still get to live.”
Taren shrugged. “I don’t see what difference that makes. My men are dead, and my kingdom’s still captured. Our mission was a failure. Compared to all that, my life hardly matters.”
“Taren, it matters to me!” said Epiphany, and wrapped him in a hug. “To me, to your family, to everyone who loves you. And… one day, I hope… to you.”
Taren snorted. “Don’t expect me to get sentimental.”
“Oh, of course not,” she said. “Returning from death is one thing, but I’d never ask for the impossible.”
Taren didn’t shove her off of him just yet. Epiphany held him close, remembering how quickly and shockingly he’d been ripped from her world. This new lease on life felt… fragile. Not guaranteed. She could only watch, and wait, and hope he wouldn’t throw it all away for war.
“Remember Rivertown?” said Epiphany, reflecting on the tavern where she’d first met Taren. Their first quests had been so simple: rescuing children abducted by a mischievous nilbog, and then chasing a trail of poached beasts across the parched savanna. They’d met Verak afterwards, then Ogrimmar, then everybody else — but she and Taren had been the first.
“Of course,” said Taren. “To think, this whole journey started when the Third Army laid off my platoon. Not even for anything we did, just reorganizing our regiment.” He let out a dry laugh. “I guess it should have been an early lesson: get used to sitting there and taking it while powerful people do whatever the hell they want with our futures.”
He paused with a frown. “I'm still not used to it. Not any more than I'm ready to, what, retire?” He spat the last word with disdain.
Epiphany pulled back, thoughtful. “I don’t think any of us are,” she said. “There’s a part of me that wants to return to the savanna, or maybe never left. Everything was simple there. Sometimes I wish I could go back to that, but none of us can, can we?”
“Things changed, and we changed with them. We had to,” said Taren. “That's the best we can do in the end. Adapt, and arm up. Pacifists lose, and losers die, so carry on and fight.”
Epiphany frowned. “I don’t know about all of that,” she said. “If I never lift a blade again, it’ll be too soon. But I can offer you this.”
There were no real endings, Epiphany knew, only the points at which the bards stopped speaking. The wheel turned ever onwards, and the cogs still clicked. That was a weary thought, but also a relief. We’re lucky that we still have unknowns ahead of us.
She raised her hand to his. “Walk with me. I’ll take you from here, and we’ll find out what comes next. For all of us.”
Ashes drifted in the snowy wind as Taren took her hand. Epiphany’s blade sliced through time, and the two of them stepped out of Skymaw, together, into the future.
The End.